Interrupted
by RobotsArePeopleToo
Summary: Blast Off is annoyed when he is called to a meeting during his down time.


So, my first fic. I'm so excited, I can't wait to see what people think! Constructive criticism is always welcome but flames will be used to set off fireworks. Written for brother!Combaticon fans and anyone who has been annoyed by other people _just_ when they reach the best part of a story. Rated for robot injuries and robot cursing. I don't own Transformers.

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Blast Off was irritated.

This day was supposed to be _his_. His day off, the one solar cycle after orns and orns of diligent work for the Decepticon cause he had to himself. The shuttle had settled himself on his berth in the Combaticons' shared quarters, alone and where it was _quiet_. He had been halfway through an old Praxian classic that Swindle had gotten from Starscream in exchange for certain rare chemicals the conmech had wheedled out of a human terrorist group.

While the story had been fairly common before the war, it was nigh impossible to find it nowadays. It was a drama about a forbidden romance that he had heard a lot about but was never able to attain a copy before. He had just gotten to one of the most suspenseful moments, where everything was about to be shot to the pit.

And then Onslaught pinged him an order to go to the meeting room.

Now, the Combaticons weren't exactly Megatron's favorite combiner group at the moment, so they didn't actually have a meeting room. Instead they used a large decrepit room covered in disgusting organic growths in the lower, unused levels of the ship. There was a good five feet of seawater on the floor. Vortex always had a blast on the rare occasions an aquatic organic found its way in. It wasn't supposed to be theirs, but no one really wanted to argue with them about it.

The only reason Onslaught would have them come to the meeting room was to strategize for whatever half-cocked plan Megatron had cooked up this orn to defeat the Autobots. Blast Off growled heatedly—almost snarling really, but, no, snarling would be undignified—startling a pair of passing seekers as he stalked down the hallway. He spared a brief thought for them before dismissing it, not caring what they were doing in the out-of-the-way part of the _Nemesis_.

He sent another spike of anger down the bond to his commander, keeping up thin walls of cold indifference to the rest of his brothers, but was again met with no response. Onslaught's blocks were impenetrable. He wasn't even sure if the mech could sense his sentiments towards being interrupted, but sending them gave Blast Off a small form of retribution, so he continued to do so with atypical glee. He wondered if he was being influenced by Vortex.

He suddenly heard a loud bang and growled again, realizing that whomever—always a _who_ on the _Nemesis_ , never a _what_ —it was that made the sound was between him and the meeting room. Most Decepticons were lowlifes he wanted nothing to do with, and the thought of happening upon one down here, where he could be doing who-knew-what away from the optics of the officers, made his plating ripple with disgust.

There was another bang, the sound of metal hitting metal ringing through the Combaticon's audials, and a groan that bordered on a whine. _Oh, Primus_ , Blast Off pleaded silently, _please don't let me walk in on them interfacing._ A crunching, rending noise and a muffled scream of pain brought those thoughts up short. Okay, so maybe no one was interfacing in the abandoned hallway. That was slightly relieving, but Blast Off still didn't want anything to do with what was actually happening. With a mental sigh he rounded the corner and stopped short.

Further down the hall, Swindle was pinned against the wall by Astrotrain. The smaller mech was clawing with a grounder's blunt digits at the large hand that practically engulfed his throat, but the effort was futile. The jeep's face was twisted with pain, optics screwed shut and denta clenched together, and Blast Off saw why as Blitzwing let go of his mangled leg. The triple-changer had obviously just crushed it with his grip. He was wearing a wicked and self-satisfied grin as he looked the energon that had spurted onto his hand from the now dripping wound.

He waited until Swindle had onlined pale and fritzing optics to wipe the pink liquid off on the jeep's arm. "Oh, good," Blitzwing said cruelly, "Was afraid you had fallen offline, runt. Now, do you wanna tell us what happened to our shipment of rocket fuel?"

Swindle's voice was hoarse and laced with static from the pressure on his vocalizer. His words came in short spurts. "I told you—already—it's just late—it'll be here soon, I—" He broke off with a gasp when the large flyer slammed his fist into the conmech's already damaged abdomen.

Blitzwing started yelling as Swindle struggled to push air through his vents, the hit having forced his active cooling systems to reset themselves. None of the three had noticed Blast Off, yet. His mouth pulled into a scowl as images, corrupted and degraded from millennia spent in a box, flashed in front of his optics. Swindle as a tiny, sickly youngling being kicked aside like so much trash by one of the 'good, upstanding mechs of Iacon'.

Blast Off started forward, steps slow and deliberate as he glared with as much contempt as he possibly could at the two triple-changers. Astrotrain saw him first. To his credit, he actually looked quite relieved that Swindle's teammate had arrived. Blast Off surmised that he didn't really want to be there. He let go of the arms dealer and stepped back, turning to face the approaching shuttle directly as Swindle slumped to the floor.

This caught Blitzwing's attention, and he also turned towards Blast Off, his face pulling into a sneer. The shuttle matched the expression with one he had been perfecting his whole life. His entire focus was on Blitzwing, knowing the other was only there because of the two triple-changers' friendship. Companions that weren't bonded mates or spark-kin were hard to come by in the Decepticons; if you found one, you held onto it with everything you had, even if it meant sometimes doing things you didn't agree with. Blast Off couldn't begrudge him that.

Blitzwing stepped forward and opened his mouth, probably to say something insulting, but Astrotrain stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked back with a glower but Astrotrain's expression was pleading. "Come on," he said quietly tugging on the other. He grunted moodily but relented, letting the other pull him down the hall. The triple-changer continued to glare at the two Combaticons until he disappeared around the corner.

Blast Off turned to his brother and sighed internally at what he saw. His chest and arms were dented. His digits were cracked and sparking from his struggles and, of course, that leg had to be pretty painful. As he started towards the jeep, he checked the bond and discovered that Swindle was blocking most of the pain.

He really did sigh at this as he crouched over the small mech. Did the idiot really think none of them would help him? He might have been a conniving son of a glitch, but he was still their little brother. The shuttle scooped him up and quickly stood, heading back the way he came and ignoring the startled yelp his actions elicited. There was no way Swindle could walk like that.

He didn't look down at the mech in his arms and he ignored the hesitant, questioning prod over the bond. He did press his EM field against his brother's exhausted and pained one, not exactly the type to push comfort, but providing stability all the same. He felt Swindle's armor relax.

He sent a quick comm message to Onslaught, telling him that neither he nor Swindle would be at the meeting because he had to take the little fragger to the medbay. After a moment, he felt the truck lower his blocks and send a pulse of _alarm/concern/suspicion._ He responded with _we're fine/no_ _ **I**_ _did not hurt him_ and the mental equivalent of an offended huff. After sending an acknowledgement, Onslaught pulled back a bit to focus on the meeting, but he did not put the blocks back in place.

He looked down at Swindle. The little conmech had slipped into a daze, optics dim and half-shuttered. Blast Off took an image capture and sent it off to Vortex, who he could feel was becoming exceedingly bored with the meeting, along with Blitzwing's designation. The rotary took a moment to process it before that part of the bond clouded with a dizzying mix of black rage and sadistic giddiness. Because no one was around to see it, Blast Off allowed himself a rare smile.

Oh, the 'copter was going to enjoy plotting their vengeance.


End file.
